In a Pickle 2: Jessica's Return
by Mummyluvr
Summary: The unanticipated sequel to In a Pickle. Sam meets an old flame in a convenience store and some awkward situations follow. Oneshot.


First off, a small warning: my friend Alex gave me the idea for this at a slumber party we didn't sleep at, so, yeah, that pretty much explains this.

Now, onto the good stuff.

**Title:** In a Pickle 2: Jessica's Return

**Summary:** The un-anticipated sequel to "In a Pickle." Yep, Sammy's found another pickle adn broguht it home with him, which can only mean trouble and laughs. One-shot.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own SN or any of its characters. But you already knew that, didn't you?

* * *

**In a Pickle 2: Jessica's Return**

The past two weeks had been pure hell for Sam Winchester. His brother just wouldn't let him live it down. It was an honest mistake, really. How was Sam to know that the evil witch's final spell hadn't hit its mark? How was he supposed to know that his brother hadn't been picklized, but was just lying unconscious a few feet away?

So, Samuel Winchester, College Boy and Monster Hunter Extraordinaire, was grateful that his brother had finally stopped ribbing and he was able to get some sleep on their long drive to Sacramento. As of late, his dreams had been more and more pleasant. There had been no gruesome death scenes, just him and his dearly departed lover, Jessica Moore.

In this particular installment of Sammy's Dream Theatre, the two lovers embraced, twirling their way across the dance floor, gliding effortlessly around the room. He closed his eyes, finally comfortable in his own head, only to find something wet and sticky dripping down his hand.

Sam's eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring at a bumpy green vegetable right where his girlfriend had been moments before. He screamed as his hands become coated in the pickle's sticky liquid, wanting out of the nightmare he currently found himself in.

Sam jumped awake, staring around the interior of his older brother's car. "Glad to have you back, there, Pickle Boy," Dean smirked, "dreaming about your lover again?"

The younger man sighed. "It was a nightmare, Dean. Jess and I were dancing, and she…" He trailed off, not entirely certain he wanted to continue. Finally, he chose to push ahead. "She turned into a giant pickle."

Dean snorted loudly. "So, what you're trying to tell me is that it started out as a nightmare and turned into one of the best dreams you've ever had?"

Sam sighed, staring resignedly out the window as his brother laughed heartily in the driver's seat.

* * *

The young hunter walked awkwardly through the aisles in the convenience store, searching for that night's dinner. He shuddered as he saw a bright pink sign advertising pickles for sale. Fortunately, only one of them remained in the glass jar that had held the odd vegetables. For some reason, though, Sam felt drawn toward it. 

He neared the pickle in the jar, bending slightly at the waist to look in through the thick liquid.

"Sam! Sammy!"

"What?" the hunter hissed, staring desperately around the shop. He was the only one there. He looked back at the pickle. "Are you talking to me?"

"Sam! Now!"

Sam took a step away from the jar, shuddering slightly and trying to imagine what his brother would say if he ever found out. "The pickle is not talking to me," Sam muttered, turning his back on the murky jar, "that pickle is not talking to me. Pickles don't talk."

"Sammy, get over here and help me!" It was clearly a feminine voice, and was oddly familiar somehow. It made Sam think back to his days in Stanford, days when he'd had a normal life, days when Jessica…

"_Jess_? Is that _you_?" Sam turned back to the jar, popping open the lid and peering inside.

"Sam, help me. _Please_."

It was her, he was sure of it. His girlfriend, the woman he'd loved, the one he'd almost proposed to, was a pickle. Slowly, he dipped his hand into the jar and pulled out the vegetable. He turned her slowly over in his hands, breathing rapidly.

It was possible, wasn't it? Not like with Dean, no, not this time. It wasn't a witch's curse, it wasn't Sam's imagination, it was reincarnation. His beloved Jessica had been brought back to him in the inanimate form of a pickle.

"Don't worry, babe," Sammy comforted, wiping excess juice from his lovely's form, "I'll help. We can be together now." He shuffled quickly up to the counter and made his purchase, cradling Jessica in his large hands the whole time.

* * *

"No," Dean shook his head, "not again. I thought we'd been over this, Sam. It's impossible for a human to be turned into a vegetable!" 

"Not if reincarnation comes into play," Sam argued, clutching Jessica close to his chest, "she's come back to me, Dean. Why can't you just be happy for me?"

"Because you're in love with a freakin' _pickle_, man!"

"Dean," Sam scolded, "not so loud. She's sensitive!"

Dean rolled his eyes, sitting on the flimsy motel bed beside his brother. "Sammy," he began gently, "_I'm_ not a pickle, and I'm positive that _Jess_ isn't a pickle."

"But she _talked_ to me, Dean."

"She talked to you?"

"She said my name and everything."

"How? Pickles don't have mouths!"

"Maybe it's that whole psychic-thing I've got going on, huh? Maybe she talked in my mind."

Dean nodded solemnly. "Well, if that's the case, then you should hear her loud and clear when I do this." Suddenly, he snatched the pickle from his brother's grasp and took a large bite out of her.

"NOOOOO!" Sam yelled as his older brother swiped nonchalantly at the pickle juice dribbling down his chin. Sam grabbed Jessica back, tears forming in his eyes.

"See," Dean explained through a mouthful of Jessica, "_you_ screamed, but _she_ didn't. What does that tell you?"

"You ate my girlfriend!"

Dean sighed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. "Fine, man, whatever. Since you neglected to pick up something for us to eat earlier, I'm heading out to that burger place with the scary puppet commercials. I'll just leave you two lovebirds alone."

He grabbed his leather jacket off a chair and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Sam looked down at the pickle in his hands, silent tears slipping down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Jess," he muttered, "I should have tried harder to protect you." He waited for a reply, but none came. "You're mad. That's understandable. Let me make it up to you."

He set the pickle down on his bed and headed for the door. "Don't go anywhere," he advised, "I'll be back soon with a little surprise."

* * *

His grin broadened as he looked across the small table at his girlfriend, the woman he had missed for so long. Finally, she had returned to him, albeit in a _very_ unexpected way. Naturally, Jessica hadn't touched her dinner. That was all right, though. At least she was back. 

"Not hungry?" Sam asked, glancing down at the full plastic tray he'd microwaved for his one true love, "still upset about what Dean did?"

Was she still upset? Of course was upset! Dean had tried to _eat_ her for crying out loud! You'd be upset, too, if you'd been reincarnated as a pickle and someone had decided to have _you_ for a snack!

"I'll do a better job of protecting you next time," Sam said softly, reaching out and stroking the pickle, "I promise."

Jess didn't reply, she just sat on the table. Sam sighed. "We'll get through this, babe," he assured, "I won't let anything bad happen to you. Not this time. Come on," he grabbed Jess around what he assumed was her waist and laid her on his bed. "You just sit tight, I'll have this place cleaned up in no time. Then we can have some fun." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, momentarily forgetting that pickles have no eyes and, therefore, cannot see. His girlfriend was trapped in a vegetable, but he wanted to make things as normal as possible for her, and that meant getting back into the old routine.

* * *

"No way," Dean muttered as he approached the motel room door and spotted the rubber band that hung from the doorknob, "Sammy, you can't. _Pickle sex?_" 

Exasperated, he turned back to his car. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for his brother's recent, odd behavior, and Dean was going to find it. He figured he would start at the convenience store where Sam had found his 'girlfriend.'

* * *

Sam laid back on his bed after a nice shower, feeling clean and refreshed after getting over the initial hurdle of how, _exactly_ to, um… _yeah_ with a pickle. He'd finally figured it out, and a good experience had been had by all. Now Sam wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep with his pickle by his side. 

He searched the bed, his eyes closed, for his recently rediscovered girlfriend, but he couldn't find her. Assuming she'd maybe headed into the bathroom to freshen up, Sam relaxed and crossed his arms behind his head.

Suddenly, something sticky dripped onto his forehead. Sam squinted once, twice, and finally opened his eyes. Pinned to the ceiling above his bed was his beloved pickle. The vegetable's midsection was split open, allowing the sticky pickle juice to drip down onto the bed's inhabitant.

Sam screamed bloody murder as his girlfriend once again burst into flames, the large chunk Dean had taken out of her clearly visible as fire engulfed her.

The door to the room burst suddenly open and Dean came rushing in. He grabbed his little brother off the bed and pulled him painstakingly toward the door. Sam struggled every step of the way, unwilling to leave his girlfriend to die again.

The brothers struggled their way out into the parking lot, where Dean pinned Sam to the pavement, panting in the pale moonlight. "It's over, Sam. The pickle's gone, and it's never coming back!"

"Don't you say that!" Sam screamed into his brother's face, "she wasn't just a pickle, she was my only _love_! I was going to ask her to _marry me!_"

"Sam, it _wasn't_ Jessica!"

"Then why'd the demon go after her, huh? Explain _that_!"

Dean sighed, rolling off his brother. "It wasn't the demon. It was _me_. Look, man, I don't know what's been going on in that messed-up head of yours lately, but you need to realize that people and pickles are two different things entirely. I superglued the pickle to the ceiling while you were in the shower, and I cut it open."

"You set the motel on fire just to kill Jessica?"

"It wasn't Jess! Listen to me, Sam!"

"She talked to me, Dean. She said my name, and she asked me to help her," Sam moaned as the fire trucks approached.

The elder shook his head. "No, man. I did some checking. One of the employees has a five-year-old named Sam who was helping his mom stock some stuff earlier today. _That's_ who you heard yelling."

"But her voice sounded so familiar."

"She's a recently fired teacher from Stanford," Dean explained, "that's how you knew her voice."

"So," Sam muttered, "that pickle… wasn't Jess?"

"No."

Sam shuddered involuntarily in the warm glow of the burning motel. "Dean, I-"

"Yeah," Dean interrupted, "I saw the rubber band. That's when I knew you needed help. Listen, I know a guy who knows a guy who knows this really hot chick that can get you an appointment with a good doctor. Maybe that witch's spell _actually_ hit you two weeks back."

Sam shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "I'll be fine. I don't need to be evaluated. I just need some time alone, if that's all right." His brother gladly obliged.

* * *

The rubble of the motel smoldered, smoking slightly in the early morning light of dawn as Sam stood and stared at the remnants of his room. The whole place had gone up, and Dean had gone out to get some new clothes, as everything they'd owned had just burned. 

"Hey, man," the elder Winchester muttered, walking up behind his brother and putting a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder, "I know you got your hopes up about Jess, so I got you something when I went out."

Sam barely turned his head. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise," Dean grinned, "now hold out your hands and close your eyes."

Sam did as he was told and immediately wished he hadn't. Cold, sticky juice ran all over his hand as the pickle his brother had bought leaked on its new owner.

"You know," Dean smirked, "because you seem to have formed such an emotional attachment to pickles. I named him Rex. He's your responsibility now, Sammy. Take good care of him."

Sam was too embarrassed to reply, he just threw the pickle to the ground and headed to the car, hoping to put every pickle-related incident in his life behind him. However, with Dean around, it would be no easy task.

* * *

I told you we didn't get any sleep. You didn't believe me, did you? Well, if you liked it (or even if you didn't) please review. 


End file.
